


After All This Turns to Ash

by flutterflap, theleafpile



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Consent is Sexy, F/M, Gen, Immortality Angst, M/M, Valentine's One True Partner Fics, background Laze, but he means well, casefic based on true story, chloe is kind and must be protected at all costs, dan knows one recipe and by god is he gonna use it, did we mention angst, ella needs love too, evangelicals get their comeuppance, gay angst, headcanon: Lucifer throws the best Pride parties in L.A., linda is a saint and we don't deserve her, lucifer is pretty clueless, murder is probably the kinder option, valentines day angst, wings be scaring people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutterflap/pseuds/flutterflap, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleafpile/pseuds/theleafpile
Summary: Chloe wasn’t squeamish about death, not by a long shot, but this was something else entirely. This was a person, left to rot. Unnoticed.For years.But Lucifer knows the truth: no one is ever, truly, forgotten.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Desire naked, linked with Passion,  
> Goes trutting by in brazen fashion;  
> From playhouse, cabaret and inn  
> The rainbow lights of Broadway blaze  
> All gay without, all glad within;  
> As in a dream I stand and gaze  
> At Broadway, shining Broadway — only  
> My heart, my heart is lonely. 
> 
> Claude McKay, from “On Broadway”
> 
> https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44695/on-broadway

Lucifer had stilled, his hands clasped tightly atop his crossed knee. Across from him, Linda waited patiently, her head cocked slightly to the side as she considered her patient. 

After a moment, it became clear that he wasn’t going to be any more forthcoming. His mouth was a thin line, his dark eyes piercing into hers and she could _swear_ straight down into her soul, but that was another topic Lucifer had also not been forthcoming about. 

He looked calm on the surface, but it was too calm. Too tightly coiled, like a serpent ready to strike.

Linda took in a breath and decided to change the topic. “So,” she began. “Any plans?”

“For?” he asked, the word clipped.

“For this weekend?” she tried, and he shook his head, not understanding. “For Valentine’s day.”

He loosened his hands, smoothing down the fabric at his knee. “Ah. Yes. Lux should be very busy. Speaking of,” he finished, standing. 

Linda watched him approach the door. “So just Lux, then?”

He stood with his hand on the doorknob, but turned, his expression betraying impatience. 

“What about Chloe?” she asked.

“What about the detective?” His brows furrowed slightly as he considered the question, especially given the doctor’s following silence.

“It might be a good idea to do something nice for your partner,” she suggested. “Especially given your… the nature of your relationship.”

He looked at her suspiciously, his eyes darting over her figure as he raised his chin, trying to suss out any ulterior motive. He opened the door, dragging his gaze away. “Doctor,” he said, in goodbye.

The door shut quietly behind him, leaving Linda in the empty space, shaking her head. 

As good as she was, she did not catch the spike in Lucifer’s pulse as he left the room.

***

Lucifer tore out of the parking garage at Linda’s office, narrowly missing a pedestrian as he screeched onto the road. The woman yelped and jumped back, dropping her bag and hurling expletives after him, but he barely noticed.

The wind whipping his hair and the thrum of the Corvette’s engine soothed him as he drove. Really, he didn’t know why the doctor’s query about his weekend plans had riled him so much. His only real experiences of Valentine’s Day were of lonely souls seeking companionship at Lux--often rather desperately--but he watched enough television to know that humans in relationships expected certain romantic gestures, in the vein of flowers and chocolate and diamonds and sometimes (though this baffled him) cuddly stuffed animals.

But he and the detective weren’t in a relationship. Why would Linda suggest that he should be planning something special for her? The last thing he wanted was to remind her - or himself - of what had almost happened and couldn’t ever, ever be.

No, the doctor was wrong. There was no reason he and the detective should be doing anything in particular on Valentine’s Day - no reason they should see each other at all, even. Better to focus on Lux, and make himself available to any lonely souls who took his fancy. 

It was the only charitable thing to do, and had nothing at all to do with his own loneliness.

He pulled into the parking garage beneath Lux with another screech of tires and took the lift up to the club. The decorations wouldn’t go up until Friday, but he’d been promised a preview of the dancers’ routine this afternoon--in costume--and had a guest DJ to audition, a favor to his regular DJ, who wanted to spend the weekend with his boyfriend. He’d been rather looking forward to the dancers, at least.

His phone rang just as the lift doors opened, the detective flashing on the screen. “Hey,” she said when he answered. “We’ve got a case.”

He stopped at the top of the stairs that curved down into the club, his pulse spiking again at the sound of her voice. “Now?” he asked. He cast a wistful glance toward the stage, where a cluster of women in red and white lingerie were talking in a tight group. 

“Yes, now.” She rattled off an address.

He sighed. “Text it to me.”

Hanging up the phone, he leaned over the railing and called, “I’ll have to wait and see the real thing this weekend, darlings. Ladies, you all look lovely.” He grinned as the group parted to reveal two men standing in their midst. “And gentlemen,” he added, letting his eyes wander over their trim physiques. The pale redheaded one blushed, and Lucifer winked at him. He paused on his way out to see that the young man got an invitation to the penthouse that evening.

No reason to wait until Valentine’s Day to offer companionship. It was only charitable. At this rate, Lucifer would find himself well on his way to being a saint. Another charitable act of selfless benevolence, indeed.

Chloe texted him the address and soon enough he found himself parking in front of a somber-looking apartment building, a far cry from his standards and yet still somehow better than anything in Tarzana. The few buildings huddled around a currently tarp-covered pool like the homeless to a fire. The dumpster, complete with sofa sticking out of it, needed emptying, the street needed paving, and somewhere nearby a dog incessantly barked. 

If the day had not been sunny and cheerful, he was sure the detective would have been calling him about a suicide, not a murder.

He shuddered at the thought, but abandoned the Corvette all the same and made his way past the police tape and several uneasy looking officers, milling about.

Jauntily he made his way up the outdoor stairwell, ready to tell the detective exactly what he thought about her making him leave what was sure to have been a very enjoyable performance (and possibly a much more naked encore) when he found her stepping out of the door in front of him, eyes downcast.

It was all very quiet. 

More quiet than a crime scene ought to be, even with the humans’ bizarre respect for the dead. 

Lucifer wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

Her eyes lifted to his movement and she offered him a sad smile. “Hey,” she said.

Now he _knew_ something was wrong. 

“What is it, detective?” he asked, stepping past her and into the apartment, trying to move aside the door to open it further and surprised to find that he could not; he looked down only to find a stack of unopened mail jamming the doorway. Further down the hall, nothing else seemed amiss or hoarded. A few white bulbs the forensic team set up sharply illuminated the otherwise dark space. 

She followed him inside as he walked down the hall, turning toward the source of commotion - the living room. A couch sectioned off the area, with a television parked in front of it. An unpleasant odor wafted in from the kitchen on the right, and he noticed a stack of blackened dishes in the sink.

“I may have called you a little early,” Chloe was explaining, “the team is going to have to take him back to the lab to determine cause of death.”

“Who?” asked Lucifer, coming around the side of the couch.

Chloe stopped him with a hand to the forearm. A forensics intern squatted, lifting a camera; the bulb flashing momentarily blinded Lucifer, but he saw.

A man, or what used to be a man, sitting on the floor, slumped against the couch. His legs were straight out in front of him, relaxed, and perhaps were crossed at the ankles at some point. At his fingertips lay scissors, as though he had just put them down, and a roll of clear tape; around the body sat a few, small wrapped Christmas presents. 

“I knew the holiday had been a bad idea,” he remarked, gesturing to the brightly-colored wrapping paper. “See, it's even gone and killed someone.”

The joke fell flat. 

The man - or, really, what Lucifer had guessed to be a man, judging by what was left of the short hair and tall height - was badly decomposed.

A few years’ worth, by the look of it, as though someone had dug up the body from a shallow grave and staged it.

Lucifer looked back out toward the kitchen. A small window over the sink offered a depressing overlook of the pool. A thin, white curtain flapped morosely in the light breeze, something his neighbors would have had to pass in and out of their apartments.

"Vincent Joyce," Chloe absently provided, gesturing downward. "Maybe."

“No one noticed?” asked Lucifer, unwilling to believe that someone could die - be killed, or perish of natural causes - and remain unfound, especially in such a place. 

A home.

He turned at the detective’s silence. 

Slowly, she slid her hand down his arm. He had forgotten it was there.

“I don’t know,” she said softly, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

***

Chloe let her hand drop to Lucifer’s and laced her fingers through his. His hand curled around hers and he looked down at it, his expression dazed. His gaze flicked to hers, then back to the body, the kitchen, the body again. 

“But - how?” he asked, his voice strangled. 

“I don’t know,” Chloe said again. She hadn’t needed to call him, exactly. She didn’t even know if they were dealing with a homicide yet - but she didn’t want to deal with this alone. Not that she was alone, exactly, but it was Ella’s day off and she hadn’t worked closely with anyone else on the scene. 

And she wanted, well, him. It was stupid, and it didn’t make any sense - the only reliable thing about Lucifer was that he _wasn’t_ , especially lately - but she resolved not to scrutinize the feeling too closely. Lucifer was her partner, that was all, and on a case like this . . . well. She wanted her partner with her.

She glanced at the body again and suppressed a shudder. She wasn’t squeamish about death, not by a long shot, but this was something else entirely. This was a person, forgotten, left to rot. 

Unnoticed.

For years.

“Didn’t he have family? Friends?” Lucifer asked. “Co-workers?”

Chloe shook her head. “I guess not.”

“Who found him?”

“The super. I was on my way out to talk to him when you got here.” Reluctantly, she let go of his hand and jerked her head toward the door. “Come on. He’s outside.”

It was a little easier to breathe outside the apartment. The air still felt heavy, but it was just the ordinary weight of everyday despair, without the smell of death. The superintendent was sitting with an officer at the bottom of the stairs, clutching a water bottle in both hands and a grayish tinge to his light brown skin. He stood up when they approached, the plastic cracking as his hands closed over the bottle. “Is - is he - ?”

“Dead?” Lucifer asked. He fixed the man with a contemptuous gaze, seeming to have regained some of his equanimity. “For quite some time, I would wager.”

“Lucifer.” Chloe shot him a quelling look. He subsided, but his jaw remained set, eyes sharp.

“...murdered?” the super finished his question with a tremble in his voice.

“We don’t know yet,” Chloe said. She took out her notebook and pen. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“The landlord asked me to check on the place. His last few rent payments didn’t go through, and he didn’t return any of their calls. There was no answer when I knocked, so I used my access key, and...” He trailed off.

“You never thought to check on his flat before that?” Lucifer demanded.

The super blanched. “There was no reason to! His rent was always paid, there were no complaints...”

“Not even about the smell?” Lucifer asked.

He shrugged, gesturing helplessly toward the dumpster. “We all assumed it was the trash.”

Chloe nodded, jotting down notes, not sure if she felt more pity or contempt for the man. “How long have you been the super here?”

He avoided her gaze. “Six years.”

“How often did you see Mr. Joyce?”

“He was around a lot more when I started--”

Lucifer snorted. “I’ll bet,” he muttered under his breath. Chloe glared at him.

“Go on.”

“About a year after I started working here, he got really - he stopped going out. I’d only see him occasionally, maybe once a month, even less. I knew he worked from home, and I think he got most things delivered.” He shrugged, looking at his feet. “It didn’t seem that odd not to see him.”

“Do you know what kind of work he did?”

“Some kind of IT work, I think.”

Chloe nodded. They’d find more when they went through his computer. “Thank you,” she said. “I think that’s all we need from you for now. We’re going to need you to come to the precinct and make a formal statement.” She felt a little better, focusing on the case - getting information, starting the task of finding out what had led no one to notice Vincent Joyce’s death until his rent stopped clearing.

She looked back up the stairs toward the half-open door to the apartment, still blocked by years worth of mail going through the slot. This one was going to haunt her.

“No,” Lucifer stated matter-of-factly, interrupting her thoughts. “No, no, no,” he continued, shoving his way up back the stairs, nearly pushing an intern off the railing in the process. He took them two at a time, making his way back to the apartment in seconds.

“Lucifer!” Chloe called out, to no avail - he pushed his way back into the apartment. She thanked the superintendent and hurried up the stairs after him, catching Lucifer as he lowered to his knees at the door, throwing his hands into the pile of mail.

“It’s not right, detective,” he explained, reading and tossing aside envelopes as he spoke. 

“We have people for that,” she tried, but he didn’t stop. His eyes were wild as they glanced her way.

She’d had nearly thirty minutes to process the scene before Lucifer arrived. She could at least give him a couple of minutes.

“What’s not right?” she asked, probing. Lucifer's wild trains of thought had been leading them astray, lately, but she still trusted his process - whatever it was.

“It’s a sin, detective,” he started. “Sloth, and not his. _Theirs_. There is always someone - " he started, then shook his head, tossing another envelope over his shoulder. “Even in Hell, detective - even in the deepest recesses of the abyss, no one is forgotten. They may think they are, isolated and alone in the dark, but someone knows. _Someone always knows._ It’s not possible that someone here didn’t. The world is far too small for that.”

Suddenly, he thrust an envelope at her. The address was handwritten, but the return address was a sticker, betraying the name clear as day.

She took it reluctantly, reading the name at the top. “Greenwood City Church.”

Upon saying the name, Lucifer dug back into the pile, and soon Chloe found her hands full of envelopes with the same name. She stacked them neatly in her hand before passing them off to a passing forensic tech with a note to look into it first thing.

She returned her gaze downward, to find Lucifer still on his knees, silent. His hands were clenched tightly at his knees, and his dark eyes bore into hers, unblinking. 

It was as though the darkness grew around him, untouched by the bright bulbs in the living room. His anger radiated off him, shimmering in the dark, and she suppressed a shiver, despite the sun at her back.

“Someone always knows,” he repeated.

She pulled out her phone, typing the name in the search bar as Lucifer stood, leaning against the doorframe and looking over her shoulder. The website was neat, if a little dated; several pictures of happily smiling groups of people could be found in a slideshow at the top. Chloe noted that the pictures appeared to be taken in exotic locales - the small print at the bottom read such places as Peru and Nigeria - and that all the people were Caucasian, not that that was such a strange occurrence.

Lucifer squeezed closer to her as a tech moved out the apartment, his body warm and solid against her shoulder. Steadying.

She continued to scroll, and the further she explored, the less she liked.

After a minute of searching and reading debatable bible verses, she clicked off the screen. Lucifer made a noise of protest. 

“It’s a hate group,” she decided, tilting her face to look into his. 

He was, perhaps, too close. She took a step out the door. 

Commotion from behind them spurred Lucifer into movement, following her out. The unmistakable clink of a cart’s wheels followed him. 

Together, they silently watched the body being wheeled out, the body bag holding more empty space than she was used to seeing. The techs spoke, working together as they maneuvered it down the stairs.

Chloe made to follow, then paused.

“I’ll let you know what the autopsy shows,” she told him. “You can go back to your…” she waved a hand in his general direction, “thing.”

His eyes were stuck past her, his face still hard, but he managed a curt nod.

Lucifer knew exactly where he was going.


	2. Chapter 2

Greenwood City Church was located in a small, neat brick building on the edge of an older residential neighborhood, only a few miles away from where Vincent Joyce had died. Lucifer left the Corvette double parked next to a van bearing the church’s logo - three stick figures made to look like a man, woman, and child holding hands under a tree - and stormed inside.

His dramatic entrance went unappreciated; the small lobby was empty. He paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimness. He stood in a long, narrow room. A table ran under the window, neatly stacked with brochures about the church, mission trips, and something called “Reparative Therapy.” A door at one end of the room stood open to a hallway that led deeper into the building. The door opposite it was closed, and low voices issued from behind it. Lucifer went in without knocking.

He found himself in a meeting room. There were chairs, a couch, and a table, all pushed against the walls, and a cluster of people stood in the center of the room, forming a circle around a young man who knelt in their midst.

“Lord,” their leader said, as the others swayed and the boy in the center bowed his head. “Lead our brother Jeremy away from temptation. Show him the path of your good works, away from the abominations of Sodom and Gomorrah. Bless him with a union with a virtuous woman--”

Lucifer snorted. “Do you really think that’s going to work?”

Heads snapped up. The group parted, turning to look at him, righteous indignation on their faces.

“I’m sorry, sir, but this is a private gathering,” the leader said. He was a pasty man in a shapeless brown suit, wispy gray hair slicked over his bald head. Lucifer recalled his picture from the website. Reverend Calvin Drake.

“Oh, I see that. Trying to pray away the gay?” Lucifer smiled, sharp-edged. His rage had cooled to ice, and it made him feel dangerous. “Take it from one who knows: it doesn’t work.”

The young man in the center - Jeremy - flinched and looked down. Drake scowled. “Who are you?”

Lucifer’s grin widened. “Lucifer. Morningstar.”

One of the women in the prayer circle blanched. She snatched the cross hanging around her neck and held it out as though to ward him off. “Out, Devil!”

Drake stretched out an arm and pushed the woman’s hand back down. “Melinda. He’s just a man.” He turned to Lucifer. “Sir, this really isn’t funny. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”

“No,” Lucifer agreed, his grin vanishing. “It’s not funny at all.” He looked at Jeremy, still on his knees in the center of the group, eyes downcast. He couldn’t be older than, what, sixteen? Longish light brown hair, delicate features, just trying to survive to adulthood. He seemed to feel Lucifer’s gaze on him, and he looked up to meet it.

Lucifer swallowed hard. The misery, the desperation in his eyes was achingly familiar. For eons, it had been his.

“You see what they do in your name?” he murmured, eyes going skyward. Not that He would hear or care. “Is this what you want, Father?” 

“The Lord wants all of creations free from sin,” Drake asserted. He looked significantly at Jeremy. “He gives us all the will resist temptation.”

Lucifer barked a laugh. “He doesn’t care!” He stepped forward until he was toe to toe with Drake, looking down his nose at him, and captured him in his gaze. “You know who goes to Hell, Reverend?” He leaned closer. “People like you. That boy will be blameless no matter who he fucks, or how, but you will rot in Hell for all eternity for making him hate himself for it.” He stepped back and took the group in with a gesture, his lip curling. “Every single one of you.”

He would have shown his face, then, if he’d still had it, but even without it the prayer group shifted and murmured with satisfying unease, casting fearful glances at him. It occurred to him suddenly that while he didn’t have his face, he could meddle with these humans in another way. It might even be more satisfying. 

He was stuck with those monstrosities on his back. Might as well put them to use.

A wave of gasps broke over the room as he unfurled his great white wings. They all looked at him with terror and suspicion, except for Jeremy, whose mouth fell open, eyes wide with wonder.

“A trick of the Devil!” a bearded man cried, pointing a trembling finger at him.

“Yes,” Lucifer agreed, taking a step forward. The room was too small for him to open them fully, but he spread them as far as he could. “But the Devil was also an Angel, remember?”

“He _fell!_ ” the same man said.

“I’m _free_ ,” Lucifer retorted, and for a moment he almost believed it. The group shrank away from him as he advanced, until Jeremy knelt alone on the floor, looking up at him. Lucifer dropped to his knees in front of him. “My father doesn’t care who you love,” he said, his voiced pitched low, for the boy alone. “Survive until you can be free. Understand?”

Tears welled up and spilled down the boy’s cheeks. He nodded.

Lucifer nodded back. “Good.” He got to his feet, drawing the boy up with him. He glanced at the men and women huddled against the far wall, and said through the sudden tightness in his chest, “I survived my Hell. You can survive yours.” Jeremy nodded again. Lucifer gave him a gentle push toward the door. “Now go. You don’t need to stay here.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He spared a last hateful look for the reverend and fled, skirting around the edge of the wings. Lucifer watched him go, felt the ache in his chest loosen just a little.

He turned back to Drake, the same sharp-edged smile curving his lips. “Now. About the matter I actually came here about.” He tugged at his cuffs, reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew an envelope, one of the pile he had taken from Vincent Joyce’s apartment. He waved it at the reverend. “One of your parishioners is dead.”

Drake stared at him, his face white, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Lucifer waited, but the man didn’t seem inclined to do anything more than stand there and gape at him. After a moment, Lucifer realized why.

“Oh, for Dad’s sake,” he muttered, and folded his wings, tucking them away out of sight. “Better?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“You - you -” Drake stammered. He pointed at Lucifer’s back. “You - how?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “I’m the Devil, remember? Keep up.” He waved the envelope at him again. “Did you hear me, Reverend? One of your parishioners is dead. Vincent Joyce. Remember him?”

Drake blinked. “Vincent? Yes, of course. He left us, years ago.” His voice was distant. Dazed, he walked unsteadily to one of the chairs that had been pushed against the wall. “We tried to reach out to him, but . . .”

“Yes, he’d acquired quite a pile of these. Years’ worth, I’d say. While Mr. Joyce lay forgotten in his living room, rotting away.”

“ _Years?_ No, impossible. That would mean . . .”

“He died soon after he left your little... church.” Lucifer uttered the last word with more disgust than he usually reserved for the term. At least people like Miss Lopez were genuinely trying to do good in the world, even if it was in his father’s name. This... He glanced around at the others who’d been participating in this little gathering, and sneered at them. “Quite the list of sins you’re accumulating, Reverend.”

Drake gave himself a shake. “No,” he said, getting to his feet. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t lie, regardless of whatever you may have heard about the Devil.”

“You’re not the Devil!” Drake shouted. 

Lucifer raised his eyebrows. “I assure you, I am.” This was what came of not having his face. The wings weren’t frightening enough, especially not for a man like this.

“You’re - whatever, whoever you are, you’re - you’re -”

“Leaving, I think,” Lucifer said, tugging at his cuffs again with a sigh. Drake hadn’t been any help, as satisfying as it had been to disrupt his little prayer circle. “I believe you’ll be hearing from the police shortly,” he added on his way out. He flashed a smile. “So I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

***

Chloe returned to the precinct in silence, letting the familiar sounds of the office wash over her. A few of the officers had taped Valentine’s day cutouts off the edges of their desks; most were children’s drawings, their greetings scrawled in pinks and purples. Ella had decorated the windows to the forensics lab in anatomically correct hearts and, bizarrely, other body parts, with such messages as “you are here” with the heart and “you send shivers down my…” beside a spine.

She returned to her desk, trying very hard to look busy.

The thing was, Chloe liked holidays. A lot. Even from before Trixie, Chloe enjoyed decking out her place for all the big holidays - Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and, of course, Valentine’s day. She went all out for birthday parties - including getting a face painter for Trixie’s last birthday - and tried to remember the birthdays of the people she worked with.

After Trixie was old enough to realize her parents worked more than her friends’ parents, Chloe began making sure the decorations went up in time, no matter how busy she was. It was, perhaps, her way of making up for time lost, a desperate reminder that this was their home, especially after she and Dan split.

Dan plopped heavily down into the chair beside her desk, tossing a casefile onto the pile at his elbow with a good-natured sigh. She opened her mouth to ask about it, but he interrupted her.

“Do you think,” he started quickly, then smiled at his lap for a moment, embarrassed. “Uh, I was wondering. I know I’ve got Trixie for the weekend, and that’ll be great, but, um.”

“Just spit it out, Dan,” she said, shaking her head.

“Could you take her for Saturday? Or, night, at least?”

Chloe lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Sure. Why?”

Dan looked reluctant to answer, but her steady gaze prompted him on. “I may have… plans. Maybe.”

Chloe found herself smiling at his shyness, an unbidden memory surfacing of when he used to flirt with her, before they married. It sent warmth through her, filling her with fondness.

Except now that smile was reserved for someone else.

And that left her feeling hollow.

“Oh?” she prompted, trying to maintain a light, teasing tone.

He relaxed further back into the seat, throwing his legs out in front of him. “Yeah. But I don’t really know what to do.”

“Mm-hmm,” she offered, tight-lipped.

“I mean, she’s not really a dinner, movie, flowers kind of gal.” He laughed. “I’m a little out of my element, here.”

Chloe grabbed a pen and started turning it in her hands. “They’re classics for a reason.”

He noticed. “If you don’t want to talk about it -”

“No,” she said, darting out a hand to pat the top of his assuringly. “It’s not that. It’s,” she faltered, taking a moment to look at the ceiling before she felt her walls come back up. “It’s just the case. I’ve been thinking. Something Lucifer said.”

He remained silent, listening.

“It’s just - how could someone just -” she started. “How could someone be that alone?”

“Lucifer?” asked Dan.

“No, Joyce,” she corrected, burying the feeling threatening to rise in her chest at the thought of Lucifer in Joyce’s place - as if that were ever possible. “I’m waiting for the autopsy to come back, make sure it’s really Vincent Joyce, before contacting next of kin. Ella said they’re probably going to have to compare dental records to find a match.” She paused, considering. “But I don’t get it. No one found him? No friends, no family, kids, neighbors, nothing?”

Dan shrugged. “People disappear. Maybe he didn’t want to be found.”

“Maybe,” Chloe agreed. 

The feeling in her gut told her otherwise. Nobody would choose to be that alone.

To be that lost.

And even if someone might, her gut told her that Vincent Joyce hadn’t. He may have been alone, but he’d been wrapping Christmas presents. So clearly he cared about someone. Who were they for? Had that person cared for him? Had they known?

A sudden need to know who those gifts had been addressed to propelled her to her feet. Had there been cards? She couldn’t remember, she needed to see.

Dan raised his eyebrows at her, and she gave herself a shake. “Sorry,” she said, sinking back down.

“It’s okay.” He laughed and gave her a wave. “You’ve got that look. Like you just figured something out.”

“More like came up with ten new questions,” she replied, managing a laugh of her own. She reached over and patted his hand again. “I think Charlotte might like the classics,” she said.

He gave her a questioning look.

“Dinner, movie, flowers?” She shrugged. “I suspect she likes you because you’re down to earth. Just be yourself. Do what you’re comfortable with.” She took a deep breath, steeling herself, because what she was going to say next felt like giving away a part of herself that she didn’t want to let go of, even though it was long since gone. She smiled at him, and hoped he couldn’t see the sadness, only the love. “I seem to remember being very impressed by your skills in the kitchen.”

He sat up a little straighter, his chest puffing up. “Really?”

The laugh his sudden shy pride coaxed out of her was genuine. “Really,” she said. She pushed her chair back. “Make her a nice dinner, get a bottle of wine, buy her some flowers. That’s all you need.”

“You think so?”

She shrugged, getting to her feet and winking at him. “I do speak from experience. That’s why you asked me, right?”

“I...” He shifted uncomfortably. 

She rolled her eyes and shooed him away from her desk. “Go. Call her and make plans. And make that rack of lamb recipe.” His date night specialty. He laughed and sketched a little salute as they both rose from her desk. She turned away, heading for the lab.

Boxes of evidence from Joyce’s apartment were stacked neatly against the wall, awaiting Ella’s return the next day. Chloe opened several before she found the wrapped presents, the red and green paper still glossy. She carefully unpacked the box, laying the presents out on the bench, and turning them over. No cards, but at the bottom of the box, nearly hidden beneath the flap, she found a small stack of gift tags, decorated with glittery snowmen in Santa hats.

One simply read “Mom” in the box that said “To:”, written in black magic marker. The others said “Karen,” “Eric,” and “Janie.”

Chloe closed her hand around the small stack of cards. 

She knew he hadn’t chosen to be alone.

She didn't know which was worse.

***

Lucifer stepped out of the small building and back into the sunshine, adjusting a cufflink and squinting in the sudden, bright light. It had been satisfying, to see the realization on their faces - not quite the fear he was used to, but it would do. 

But it had been satisfying in the way an orgasm is satisfying.

Short lived.

He couldn’t quite shake the image of the corpse, leaning against the couch. He had seen some interesting things in Hell, but souls were not corporeal, and so did not rot as flesh did on Earth. Insects, remains, decay - these were aspects of temporal existence, and so did not belong among the eternal.

Though the sun beamed down on his face, all he could feel was the cold seeping from his skin to his bones; the cold of something left unresolved, the sharp edge of dissatisfaction.

He cracked his neck from side to side, his lips upturning in a smile. 

Violence.

What he needed was violence.

Perhaps Amenadiel would be amenable to a good beating.

He was stepping off the curb when the timid sound of a throat clearing had him turning around, only to find Jeremy just outside the door, rubbing his arms as though cold.

Lucifer waited.

Jeremy kept his eyes on the ground. “I- I’m sorry,” he began. “I don’t mean to bother you.”

Lucifer wanted to tell him it was no bother, but did not yet trust himself to open his mouth.

“I wanted to ask,” the young man continued, trying to steady himself. “If you’re sure.”

Lucifer felt the ice in his veins turn to melt water and drain away. He stepped back onto the sidewalk. 

“I know I shouldn’t,” Jeremy said, refusing to look up as Lucifer approached. “It’s not my place to know, I guess, but.”

Lucifer could see the tears falling onto the hot concrete, blooming before disappearing.

Everything was temporal, here. Even pain.

 _Especially_ pain. 

“Since you’re, you know,” Jeremy choked out a laugh, covering his mouth with a shaking hand. “Here. I figured, maybe, I’d just -”

Lucifer took the young man into his arms, steady as he shook.

“Do you feel guilt?” asked Lucifer. Jeremy nodded, but otherwise couldn’t speak. Lucifer leaned down to speak softly into his ear. “Don’t.” 

Jeremy shuddered, then nodded once more. Lucifer released him, lifting his chin with a finger to look into his eyes. He smiled, and Jeremy offered a weak one in return.

“You should come see me. In a couple of years, I think,” he added. “Can’t be responsible for corrupting any youth, now.”

Jeremy laughed and wiped his face. Lucifer took that as his cue and turned, making his way back across the street to the Corvette.

He was halfway back to Lux before the small smile he carried finally faded.


	3. Chapter 3

Lucifer bypassed the club, still relatively quiet at this hour, and took the lift straight up to the penthouse, shrugging out of his jacket as he rode. He had his vest unbuttoned and shirt untucked by the time the doors opened, and tossed the offending pieces of clothing over a chair on his way to the bar. They felt itchy, restrictive, and he felt like he needed a shower after that place. The stench of hatred and self-righteousness clung to his clothes, his skin, and underneath, isolation, decay.

He wasn’t going to think about that. Not Vincent Joyce, not Jeremy, not Reverend Drake, who had an eternity of torture waiting for him when he finally shuffled off this mortal coil. He poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and took it out onto the balcony. The air was cooling as the sun sank, the bright blue sky taking on an orange hue, and he breathed in deeply. A drink first, and then a shower and a fresh suit, and he’d go downstairs and lose himself in the pulse of music and bodies and alcohol, in not being alone, ever, if he didn’t choose it.

He frowned as he gazed over the city. Perhaps he should have made sure the boy had a place to go, he thought. It wouldn’t do for Lucifer to have freed him from those loons only to have him delivered back into their hands by equally loony parents, or to run away and fend for himself on the streets.

Not that Lucifer cared one way or the other. But perhaps he would make some inquiries, and ensure that any required aid reached him. Anonymously, of course.

The shadows were deepening, and things would be picking up downstairs, but Lucifer made no move toward the shower or Lux. He poured himself another whiskey and leaned on the railing, watching night fall over Los Angeles.

The sound of the lift bell brought him out of his reverie. He straightened and peered through the open door. He wasn’t spoiling for a fight the way he had been earlier, but if Amenadiel had come calling he wouldn’t say no to a little cleansing violence.

Instead, a glimpse of red hair and a slender frame in the mirror across from the lift reminded him of his invitation to the dancer this morning, and Lucifer grinned. Even better. 

“Hello?” the man called hesitantly, looking around.

Lucifer stepped through the door and watched him look around for a moment before he called, “Over here.” He smiled when the man came far enough into the penthouse to see him. This was what he wanted. Not all the noise and press of Lux, but one simple connection, one person’s desires. “I was out on the balcony. I see you got my invitation...” He hesitated. “I’m afraid I never got your name.”

“Henry.” He flushed a little and shoved his hands into his pockets, looking away shyly. “My friends call me Hal.”

“Hal,” Lucifer repeated, crossing to the bar. “How charmingly old-fashioned. Can I get you a drink?”

He nodded, joining him at the bar but not, Lucifer noted, getting too close. Lucifer handed him his whiskey and soda without closing the distance between them. “Not a lot of people land a gig at Lux their first time out,” he remarked, leaning casually against the bar.

Hal flushed again. “Is it that obvious?”

“Most of my dancers don’t blush quite so easily,” Lucifer replied with a grin. “But you came highly recommended from your friend Meghan.”

He flushed a deeper shade of red and gulped down half his drink. Lucifer raised an eyebrow, worried now. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a simple connection, after all.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said. “Your taking me up on my invitation tonight has nothing to do with your employment at Lux.”

Hal blinked. “What?”

“You seem nervous,” Lucifer said. “You’ve no obligation to be here. My invitation was only that - an invitation. Not a command.”

“Oh! No, I just...” He trailed off, looking up at Lucifer through his lashes. He gestured, taking in the penthouse, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was there. “I just didn’t expect...” 

Lucifer relaxed. “No?” he asked, encouraged. Hal’s shyness really was quite charming. He set his glass on the bar and moved closer. Hal leaned toward him, mouth opening slightly, and Lucifer stepped in and kissed him, soft until Hal pressed back against his mouth and then harder. They were both breathing raggedly when he pulled away.

Simple. No complications, no questions.

He looked down into Hal’s eyes, dark with lust, and held his gaze.

No questions, except for one.

“What do you desire?” 

“You,” Hal said, and Lucifer didn’t need more than that.

***

“Yes, you,” Chloe sighed into the phone, tired of repeating herself. Her morning coffee had worn off, and Lucifer had still not shown his face since the day before - even when he was usually so bright and early and damn _perky_ that it sometimes pissed her off. “The preliminary autopsy results came back inconclusive. It’s definitely Vincent Joyce, but I need you here to interview the family members.”

“As much as I am always happy to service you, detective, I’m kind of in the middle of something,” Lucifer’s voice on the other end of the line stated, a little breathless.

“Someone, you mean,” Chloe deadpanned, looking at the clock on her computer. “It’s literally one thirty-three in the afternoon.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Lucifer, and Chloe could imagine his confused expression as easily as though he were sitting right in front of her. 

“Are you coming in, or not?” she snapped. “Because I have the sister scheduled for two o’clock.”

Lucifer’s long suffering sigh answered her. “Well, I was planning on coming, but not quite -”

Chloe hung up.

Sooner rather than later, an agitated Lucifer stomped his way down the precinct’s steps to her desk, not bothering to stop. Instead, he lifted a hand, gesturing toward the interrogation room, eager to get the business done and over with. She followed, a little more slowly than usual, if only to remind him that she was not his to command.

“Karen… Hofnar,” Chloe read, seated across from the nervous brunette, Lucifer at her side.

Later, Chloe read the names of his niece and nephew in the same manner, from her notepad. 

“Janine Aden” nodded her head once, holding her hands tightly in her lap after smoothing out her A-line skirt, her eyes continuously darting toward the door and pointedly ignoring Lucifer.

“Eric Cobi” relaxed back in the seat, pushing his blonde surfer hair from his sun-kissed face.

“That’s me,” they all answered.

“What can you tell me about Vincent Joyce?” Chloe asked.

“I don’t know. He’s my uncle, I guess,” Janine answered. “We’re not close.”

“What do you want to know?” Eric asked.

“Did something happen?” Karen wondered, her eyes widening as she pulled herself forward.

“Mr. Joyce was found deceased yesterday morning,” Chloe answered.

“Though he had been deceased for significantly longer than that,” Lucifer supplied, his eyes carefully watching each interviewee, unblinking.

“The coroner's office is still determining if there was any foul play involved, but given the state of the body we’ve decided to pursue this as a criminal matter.”

“State of the…” Karen murmured, then crossed herself. Chloe didn’t need to look at her partner to feel his reaction, pulsing off him. Lucifer leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the table, considering the woman.

“That didn’t help your brother much, now did it?” Lucifer asked. 

Chloe pressed on before she could answer. “What can you tell us about Greenwood City Church?”

Karen’s eyes widened. 

Janine cleared her throat. 

Eric went oddly rigid. 

All looked to the door.

Chloe followed each gaze as it came, wondering what they could be seeing. 

Lucifer tilted his head, studying them. “What is it you fear?” he asked softly.

All sets of eyes returned to look into his dark ones, as if drawn. 

“Drake,” they said.

***

Chloe returned to her notepad. “That would be Reverend Calvin Drake?” she confirmed, holding her pen aloft.

The man sat stiffly across from them, his worn suit bunching uncomfortably at the front, but he made no move to smooth it down. 

Lucifer stood in the corner beside the door. Drake hadn’t even looked at Chloe, yet. His jaw clenched, and she risked a look at her partner.

His smug expression was one she was used to seeing. “Told you,” he said.

“Reverend,” Chloe tried. Reluctantly, he brought his gaze to her. His blue eyes were ice-cold. “Your name has come up a lot today.”

Perhaps he would relax if she stroked his ego a bit.

“It’s nice to be known within the community,” he answered, unfeeling. “Our church has been expanding recently.”

“I can see that,” Chloe agreed, shuffling through her notepad. “Something like a thousand members in the area, now? That’s quite an accomplishment.”

His lips quivered in a smile, but his eyes returned to Lucifer.

“But it’s one particular member of your parish that we’re curious about.”

“Vincent left the church,” Drake answered, startling Chloe with his foreknowledge. “We attempted to bring him back into the flock many times.”

Chloe turned in her chair to face her partner, who was currently staring daggers at the man across from her. “Lucifer,” she asked, trying to keep her voice light. “Have you and the Reverend met before?”

“Snake,” the Reverend spat out the word. Chloe snapped her head back. “Father of Lies,” he continued. “Do they know the deceit you carry in your heart?” 

Chloe lifted her hands, attempting to placate the man. She heard Lucifer push himself off the wall. “Reverend,” she began. “There’s no need to become upset. Lucifer is my consultant, nothing more.”

“Nothing _less,_ ” Drake continued, pushing himself upright and slamming a fist on the table. “Nothing more Fallen, nothing further from God’s light!”

Chloe stood, wary. “I’m not sure what Lucifer may have said to you --”

“He speaks only venom,” the reverend answered, lifting a shaking finger to point. “Nothing the Beast says can be trusted.”

In a flash, Lucifer was at her side, throwing the table across the room. She gasped, catching herself enough to grip tightly onto Lucifer’s arm as he loomed over the reverend.

He did not touch him. A marked improvement, Chloe thought, from when he lifted the Spider up the wall after he killed Father Frank - and, more recently, threw a man over a balcony and into a hotel pool.

Lucifer towered over the other man, ignoring Chloe’s grip trying to yank him away. His head moved from side to side like a serpent, holding the reverend’s steely gaze.

She watched, trying to trust her partner.

“Tell me about Vincent,” Lucifer asked, his voice snapping on the name. The reverend clenched his jaw. 

Lucifer waited.

“Vincent was looking for a place to belong,” Drake answered, trying to bite the words back as they left his mouth. “He found it with us. But he changed his mind. Didn’t agree. He left us.”

Chloe relaxed her grip slightly.

“Nobody leaves us.”

“Tell me, Calvin,” Lucifer began, “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” he quickly answered.

“What did you do?” Lucifer asked again, pressing forward. Drake took a stuttering step backward.

“Nothing,” he replied, though less vehemently this time.

“He died alone,” Lucifer told him, his voice pitched low. Chloe wanted to watch Drake, to read his reactions, but couldn’t take her eyes off Lucifer. “Watching telly, wrapping presents. No one found him.”

Lucifer stepped forward again, menacing. Drake backed into the wall. 

Lucifer leaned down. “No one will find you,” he said, speaking softly into his ear. “Down, in the abyss. You’d think Hell is full of screaming, but in the Pit, it’s deathly silent.” His voice dropped to a whisper, but seemed to echo in the room. “It’s so quiet you hear your heart beating, until the sound drives you mad, and you claw it out of your chest.”

The reverend shuddered. Chloe exhaled, shocked to see her breath fogging in the suddenly cold air.

Lucifer pulled back enough to stare deeply into the man’s eyes. “Hell waits for you, Reverend,” he told him. Drake gasped, clawing at the wall behind him, unable to tear his eyes away from Lucifer's gaze. “Do you see it?”

Drake screamed.

The sound shocked the air, and snapped Chloe back into reality. She tugged at Lucifer’s arm, but found herself gripping only air. 

He was gone.

***

Lucifer was barely aware of his surroundings until he made it back to Lux, windblown and breathless, and pulled the Corvette into its parking space with a screech. Hal was still in the penthouse where he had left him, and Lucifer had him pressed up against the wall beside the lift before he had time say hello.

“So sorry for the interruption.” Lucifer nuzzled Hal’s neck, his fingers going to tie of his borrowed robe and sliding down his belly, eliciting a gasp and a sigh. He captured his mouth in a rough kiss before he finally pulled back enough to look down into his gray-green eyes. “Now, where were we?”

Hal tugged him back down for another kiss, fumbling at Lucifer’s shirt in turn as they stumbled back toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing in their wake. Lucifer shoved him back onto the bed, shed his trousers and climbed on top of him. He’d gone slow last night - and this morning - letting Hal’s desires lead him, but now he felt too pent up, his skin tingling, lingering rage and something else swirling in his veins that made slow and gentle impossible. 

“What do you want?” Lucifer asked.

Hal slid back against the pillows, never breaking eye contact as Lucifer crawled between his knees and hovered over him, a hand on either side of his shoulders. “You,” he breathed, and urged him closer. Lucifer pushed into him, and for a while he forgot the events of the last two days, lost himself in the heat of his body and the pleasure of finding new ways to make him moan and gasp and whimper and beg for more.

It should have been enough, and for a while, it was, as they lay tangled and sated and dozed into the afternoon. But when Hal finally left, leaving Lucifer alone again, the restless tingle along his skin came back. His throat felt tight, and he couldn’t stop seeing the decaying remains of Vincent Joyce, surrounded by dust motes, in his mind’s eye. His fingers stumbled over the keys when he tried to play the piano. 

Lux was somehow worse than the quiet of the penthouse, the music jangling his nerves and every touch just intensifying the feeling of wanting to crawl out of his skin. He was back in the lift within an hour, taking it down to the parking garage and tearing down the highway in the Corvette, but even the roar of the wind at 90 miles per hour couldn’t dispel the uneasiness he had been feeling since he walked into Vincent Joyce’s flat the day before.

He found himself barging into Linda’s apartment, ignoring the startled squeak from the living room - like he’d never heard that before - letting the door slam shut behind him. 

A sharp whistle by his ear had Lucifer turning, only to find a blade embedded into the wall behind him. 

“Oh,” said Maze, appearing from the shadows. “It’s just Lucifer,” she called out behind her. 

Linda appeared, holding onto Maze’s arm as she came around the corner, ruffled and indignant. “Lucifer!” she chided, “this is my home! You can’t just barge in here whenever you want!”

He retrieved his flask from his jacket pocket, taking a swig as he gestured toward himself with his other hand. “Devil, remember?” 

Maze tilted her head, agreeing, before a harsh whisper from Linda had her rolling her eyes. “Whatever,” she told her, before strolling toward Lucifer and retrieving her jacket off the back of a chair. “Why don’t you guys talk.”

Lucifer watched her as she opened the door. “Wait,” he said, stopping her, a smile growing on his face. “What were you two doing?”

“Talking,” answered Linda quickly. Maze shook her head, leaving the door open behind her as she left. Lucifer made no move to shut it, moving further into the room; Linda rushed behind him, glancing out the door before bolting the deadbolt.

Later, after she had settled herself on a plush armchair - her second glass of wine making her a bit sleepy and a little too loose to be a _good_ therapist, but she was absolutely certain the Devil was going to take what he could get at this point - Lucifer was still pacing.

He was going to wear a hole in her carpet if he kept that up.

“Lucifer,” she quietly urged, “I think it’ll be best if you take a seat.”

He considered it, then plopped down heavily onto the couch beside her, lifting his long legs onto the fabric and reclining in classic repose. He had been going on about Hank - no, Hal - and Lux, and how weird everything had been feeling lately, how off-kilter and unsatisfying - 

“Need I remind you of 60-second orgasms?” he was saying, shocking her back into the present moment. 

“No,” she drew out, then shook her head, clearing away the memory. She set down her wine glass, folding her hands into her lap as he fell silent, eyes on the ceiling. 

She considered her patient. His long, lean form easily overtook her couch, his legs crossed at the ankles and shoes somehow always impeccably clean, like the rest of him. 

Immaculate. 

She wondered if he noticed the change, since his wings returned, how much more - well, there was really no other word for it - how much more he seemed to be _preening._

“Lucifer,” she started softly, unwilling to pull him too far from his current train of thought. “You have always taken your cases to heart, using them as a way to answer questions you have.”

He lifted a hand to rub at his forehead, not answering.

“What is it about this Joyce case that has you so affected?”

He let his hand fall away, folding it in his other atop his chest. His brows furrowed together slightly, thoughtful, and she let him think in silence.

“There is a human fear,” he began softly, “of the dark. You sing in it, when you’re alone. You think of all these things that live in the shadows, unable to imagine that there is, truly, nothing.”

He ran his thumb over the top of his ring, a nervous gesture Linda noted, and filed away for later.

“You name them, which makes them solid, and real, and you tell stories and turn on all the lights afterward, as if it helps. The names change, but the one constant in human fear is -” 

He faltered.

“You,” finished Linda.

He rose to seated, hunched over, holding his hands between his knees. “The names change, of course, you know,” he continued, weakly gesturing toward her before steadying his voice. “I’ll never be forgotten. As long as humanity lives, it will be my name on your lips, when you hold your torches out to the dark.”

He fell silent.

“Except…” she prompted.

“Except,” he continued, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. “I will be forgotten. No matter how many people I meet, I know, there are so few -”

“Who know _you,_ ” she finished.

He nodded, dropping his eyes to the floor.

She considered it. “When do you feel most known?” she asked. 

He huffed out a breath, a small, shy smile just beginning on his lips.

“You should tell her that.”

He placed his hands on his knees, meeting her gaze as he made to stand. She smiled up at him, and then at his back as he walked away. 

He was halfway out the door before she called out, “Lock it behind you!”

He chuckled, then shut it behind him. She heard the deadbolt slide back into place, and relaxed back into her seat, definitely ready for another glass.

***

Lucifer’s knock at the door interrupted Chloe and Trixie in the middle of their nightly chapter of _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ , just as Charlie and Grandpa Joe were arriving at the factory.

“We’re in the middle of bedtime,” Chloe said when she opened the door, not exactly pleased to see him after his disappearing act that afternoon, which had left her trying unsuccessfully to coax some kind of useful information from the gibbering Reverend Drake. She glanced at the clock. “What are you doing here?”

Lucifer blinked, nonplussed at her less than warm welcome. “May I come in?” he asked. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about.” He hesitated. “I can wait, while you...” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely - presumably because he had no idea what putting a child to bed actually involved.

Chloe sighed and stepped back, gesturing him inside. It was easier than arguing with him, and she was curious despite herself. He seemed uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

His shoulders relaxed a little. “Thank you.”

Trixie was out of bed the instant she heard his voice, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the bedroom. “You’re just in time! Will you read to me? Mom, do you mind?”

Chloe couldn’t help laughing at the horrified expression on Lucifer’s face. “Not at all, Monkey. He can read to both of us,” she added. 

Lucifer cast her a desperate, pleading look. “Detective!”

“You came over in the middle of bedtime,” she said, pitiless.

Trixie managed to wheedle two chapters out of Lucifer, who would never have admitted that he was enjoying the story, but Chloe could see he was almost as disappointed as Trixie when she insisted on lights out and shooed him from the room, following a few minutes later.

He was pacing between the kitchen and the living room when she emerged from Trixie’s bedroom, shutting the door carefully behind her. He had his flask in one hand, and was fiddling nervously with his ring with the other. Chloe watched him a moment, then went to the kitchen and poured herself a drink.

“Okay,” she said, leaning on the counter. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

He took another pull from his flask and seemed to look everywhere but at her. “I -” he began, then shook his head. “That is to say - I mean -” He broke off again and took another swallow from the flask, smiled uneasily at her. “Sorry,” he said. “I went to see Dr. Linda tonight, and she - I wanted -”

Chloe set her glass down and walked around the counter to him. “Hey.” She touched his arm and waited for him to look at her. He seemed to relax a little, and she did, too. Whatever this was about, he was clearly upset, and however annoyed she was at his behavior, she knew it had taken a lot for him to come to her for help. “What is it?”

He gazed down at her while another moment ticked passed, his throat working, as though he couldn’t quite get the words past. At last he blurted, “You didn’t notice I was gone.”

Chloe bristled, pulling away. “Of course I noticed you left. You were theatrical enough about it.” Why did she always do this? It was always the same with him, he drew her in, and then -

He frowned. “I’m not talking about today, I’m talking about -” He pressed his lips together. “I left because I know you’d rather I not assault suspects in the middle of the precinct -”

“I’d rather you not go interrogate suspects without me!” Chloe interrupted, her voice trembling with the effort of keeping it low enough that Trixie wouldn’t hear. “All he would do after you left was try to convince me to pray with him to save my soul.”

Lucifer snorted at that. “Now I wish I had stayed.”

“It’s not funny!” she snapped. “What the hell did you do?”

“It’s not,” he agreed, sobering quickly. “Prayers are like weapons to a man like that. You know what I did, Detective?” He stepped forward, locking gazes with her. She stiffened her knees to keep herself from stepping back. “I interrupted our dear reverend leading a prayer to keep one of their member from sin. Care to guess what that sin was?”

Chloe’s belly clenched as she remembered the website. “Being gay?”

He nodded, his mouth twisting. “Just a child, a teenager, being taught to hate himself for his desires. So yes, I frightened him. He deserved it. He’s the snake, not me.” He spun on his heel and paced away, taking another long pull from his flask.

Chloe leaned against the counter, closing her eyes and massaging her temples with one hand. “I’d just rather you waited for me,” she said. He didn’t answer. She opened her eyes and looked at him. He stood stiffly by the window, his back to her, looking out, and she wondered suddenly - had something like what he’d interrupted at Greenwood City Church happened to him? She knew his father was controlling, manipulative to the point of driving him to paranoia. Was that why he’d taken the name of the devil, made excess and defiance his identity? 

A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed against it. “What did you mean before?” she asked, when she was sure she could speak again.

He turned. “What?”

“About me not noticing. You said you weren’t talking about today.”

“Oh.” He looked back out the window. “I was talking about when I was kidnapped. I was gone for two days, Chloe, and... you didn’t notice.” He looked down at his hands, wrapped around the flask.

Chloe stared at his back, her heart sinking as excuses flitted through her brain - that he had disappeared before, remember Vegas? And it wasn’t unusual for them to go a few days without talking, but - that wasn’t really the point, was it?

She joined him by the window and laid her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This case has me on edge, too. I keep thinking about how a person could just be forgotten like that. It scares me,” she admitted.

He looked at her, brown eyes intense. “It shouldn’t,” he told her. “Though your profession is death, you are far too entwined in life to ever be so far removed.”

She spared a look into his eyes. “It’s not me that I worry about.”

Chloe had seen that look in him before, that unmasked hopefulness in his eyes, that small, genuine smile playing on his lips.

She wished it didn’t affect her like it did. She wished she could just forget anything between them had ever happened. All the good parts - the teasing and smiles, the dinners and drinks - all came with a their share of bad. Of egotism and bluffing, missed calls and ignored texts, of pain blooming in her chest and she was getting really sick of having to decipher him all the damn time. 

He was ice, and he was fire, and he was roiling ocean in a storm, and he was flirty and slippery and sudden and she tried her best not to be sucked into his black hole eyes.

Yet here she stood, flirting with the event horizon.

Again.

She used to to think the night sky was peaceful. Now, when she looked to the stars, all she could see was burning.

Silently, Lucifer slipped his flask back into his jacket, dropping his gaze at her silence. Why did they always do this? 

Why did they always skirt around the edge of things?

“We should -”

“I’ll just -”

They both spoke, and both fell silent once more. 

“I’d like to look into Drake more,” she explained, feeling safer discussing the case than anything else. “In the morning. The coroner promised me a more definitive report before the end of the day tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Lucifer confirmed. She nodded once, unsure why he was asking. He took a small step back, toward the door, as though trying to mentally distance himself.

“And afterward?”

“After what?” she asked.

“After tomorrow. Friday,” he drew out. “After would be Saturday.”

God, she had forgotten. 

“I don’t have any plans,” she said, then mentally chided herself at how it came out. “I mean, nothing out of the ordinary. I’ll have Trixie. She doesn’t really care about it. Except for the chocolates,” she added, with a smile. 

He was silent for a moment, thoughtful. “But you do?” he ventured. 

She found herself unable to meet his eyes, studying the counter instead. “I used to,” she told him, disliking how small her voice sounded.

He nodded thoughtfully, then stepped back to leave. “Tomorrow, then, detective.”

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, glancing up only for a moment to see him reluctant to go.

But he did.


	4. Chapter 4

Chloe had her head buried in a stack of files when Lucifer got the precinct the next morning, and so he was able to slip past her desk on his way to the forensics lab without her noticing, intent on his errand. 

He’d gone back to the penthouse after he’d left her flat, the lingering warmth of being with her putting him more at ease than he’d felt in days. He was still restless, though, and spent most of the night on the balcony, trying to sort out his tangled feelings while his cigarette smoldered in the ashtray at his elbow, untouched.

The morning brought little clarity, but as he readied himself for the day, he was beginning to have an idea.

He glanced around the lab, found it empty except for Ella, and closed the door behind him. “Miss Lopez.” 

She was sitting at the bench, looking intently at some papers spread out before her. She glanced up at his greeting, her chin still resting in her hand, and didn’t smile. “Oh. Hi, Lucifer.”

He walked around behind her and peered over her shoulder to find the crime scene photos from Vincent Joyce’s flat in front of her. She sighed. “This is so sad.”

“Yes,” he agreed, and paced away, opting to look out the window into the precinct instead of at the photos. He’d seen quite enough of it in person. 

“What can I do for you?” Ella asked, with an obvious effort at her usual cheerfulness.

He turned back to her and hesitated a moment, no longer certain about the idea that had taken shape that morning. “I was hoping I might ask for your advice.”

Her eyebrows climbed, a genuine smile spreading across her face. “My advice? About what?”

“The detective.” He cleared his throat. “About what I might do for her for Valentine’s Day.”

Ella’s mouth dropped open. Letting out a delighted laugh, she dashed over to him and seized his arm. “You want to do something for Chloe for Valentine’s Day?”

“As a friend,” he said quickly, pulling away. “I can’t - We’re not -” He shook himself. “She mentioned she used to like the holiday, and I thought I’d do something for her. As a friend,” he repeated, emphatically.

“Hmmm.” Ella screwed her face up in thought. “What do you usually do for Valentine’s Day?”

“Me? I usually have lots of sex with lots of people.”

She made a face. “That’s not gonna work.”

“No,” he agreed. “The detective has made it quite clear that she won’t have sex with me. And...” He glanced out the window toward her desk, where Chloe was glancing around with a frown, as though looking for someone. “I’d like to do something... special. For her.” He turned back to Ella, who was giving him a sharp, considering look that Linda sometimes did, as though she saw through him.

“As a friend,” she said.

“Yes!” he replied, exasperated. “Flowers and chocolates and a romantic dinner won’t work.”

“You could give her flowers,” Ella said. “Yellow r-- uh, residue,” she stammered, her eyes darting behind Lucifer and a sudden, panicky expression on her face.

“Yellow residue?” he repeated, not sure if he was more confused or disgusted. “What are you talking about?”

“Hi Chloe!” Ella exclaimed brightly. Lucifer looked around to find his partner poking her head into the lab. “I was just telling Lucifer about the yellow residue. On the body. It’s a fungus,” she said, grabbing a photo and waving it at the two of them. “It can actually help us determine time of death, because of how fast it grows,” she continued, talking fast as she explained its growth pattern.

“Oh,” Chloe said, glancing from her to Lucifer and back. “I didn’t realize you were here,” she said to Lucifer.

“You looked busy,” he hedged. “I thought I’d come in here and learn what Miss Lopez had discovered."

“There was something I wanted to show you, actually,” Chloe said, going to the table along the wall where the evidence had been laid out.

While she sifted through the evidence, Ella sidled up to Lucifer and hissed in his ear, “Yellow roses. They’re a symbol of friendship.” She smiled innocently at Chloe as she turned back to them.

Chloe frowned, then shrugged and held out an envelope to Lucifer. He took it, turned it over, and, seeing that it had been opened, pulled out the sheet of paper inside. It was a form letter, on letterhead with a rainbow logo on the top. _Dear Mr. Joyce,_ he read, _Thank you for your donation..._

He glanced up at Chloe. 

“He made monthly donations to a shelter for LGBT youth,” she said, shrugging. “I thought you’d like to know.”

Unexpectedly moved, he looked away from her, his throat tight. His hand closed convulsively on the letter, crumpling it. He took a deep, shaky breath, smoothing it out before he handed it back. “Thank you,” he said, when he was sure his voice was under control. 

She gave him a gentle, close-lipped smile, and he took another deep breath and scrubbed his hands over his face. “So,” he asked, trying to bring things back to more stable ground. “What have you found out about Drake?”

Chloe sighed, then pulled the keyboard on the table toward her, directing their attentions toward the screen. She pulled up Drake’s information, as well as the Greenwood City Church website, and scrolled through both until she found what she needed.

“Ella, you were saying that time of death was around Christmas, 2013?” 

She nodded, sliding over a file with too many charts and graphs for someone without a degree to decipher. “Yeah. I mean, the Christmas presents are a dead giveaway as it is, but even taking in other factors like exposure, the end of five years ago seems a pretty safe bet. Hey,” she added, and both Chloe and Lucifer could already tell the derail was coming, “that’s about when you came to L.A., right?” she asked.

Lucifer shifted uncomfortably. Chloe noticed. “So,” she said, focusing back on the screen, “It looks like Drake - and, as far as I can determine, everyone who was in his parish at the time - was on a mission trip to Nicaragua at the time.”

“The whole time?” Lucifer confirmed.

Chloe nodded, pointing toward a series of photographs from the trip. “They were gone from “The Feast of Immaculate Conception” - December 8th - through New Years.”

A uniformed officer opened the door and leaned in, file in hand. Ella rushed over, taking it from him and scanning through it quickly. Chloe and Lucifer waited expectantly as Ella’s shoulders slumped.

“You know, I never really thought I would ever have _wanted_ someone to be murdered,” she began, handing Chloe the file. “But it looks like your vic here bit the dust all on his lonesome.”

Slowly, she made her way back around the table, shutting folders and cleaning up as she did so, keeping her eyes downcast. 

Chloe scanned the file as Lucifer watched, silent. She shut it slowly, with care, after a few moments. “I guess that answers that, then,” she told him, setting the folder down on the table, her hand lingering over the top. “I’m gonna call the family, let them know,” she quickly told Lucifer. “You can probably go home.”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He watched her leave, the door shutting softly behind her. 

“You okay?” Ella asked, from behind him.

He wanted to answer, but any word out of his mouth now would be a lie. 

***

Back at Lux, all the decorations had gone up. There was red, glittering trim on the banisters, red roses on the tables, and the dancers had perfected their routines and were now mingling lazily, their beautiful forms sitting in the booths almost as much a decoration as their outfits. Lucifer spotted Hal, who nodded and smiled in greeting, but thankfully, offered nothing else.

Lucifer didn’t want his company. He didn’t want anyone’s company. Not tonight, at least. 

But tomorrow - 

Tomorrow, he knew, would be different.

***

Saturday morning, Chloe stretched herself awake, feeling suspiciously well-rested. No bouncing child had woken her, and no odd sounds coming from downstairs piqued her curiosity. 

She rolled over and checked the clock: 9:04am. No wonder she felt so rested. Chloe listened, able to hear the faint sounds of her child’s laughter coming from down the stairs. Trixie was old enough now to get herself cereal, or make toast or one of those horrible toaster pastries, so she wasn’t worried.

She rose and threw on an old pair of jeans, trading her nightshirt for a t-shirt. A quick stop in the bathroom and she brushed her teeth and pulled her hair up in a ponytail. There would be time later for a shower; right now, her stomach was demanding breakfast, and her brain, coffee.

Maze’s door was closed, she noticed, as she made to descend the steps, and yet the sound of cooking entered her ears.

“Trix?” she called out, descending the stairs.

“Here, mommy!” the child called out happily. 

Chloe finally saw what she was so happy about. Lucifer stood in the kitchen, pristine as always, placing a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her daughter.

Chloe’s breath hitched in her throat at the sight, but her mind raced to catch up, in disbelief.

Trixie studied Lucifer’s expression, then promptly took the plate and a fork with her, hopping off the seat and making for the couch.

Chloe let her go past without a word.

He set down the pan and reached for something else behind the counter. She stood rooted in place, her heart thrumming in her chest.

He emerged from the kitchen, a bouquet of red roses in hand. His other hand was held out placatingly, as though already anticipating her rejection and desperate for a moment to explain.

Just that alone had her eyes shining, the fact that he was so sure of her rejection, and yet wanted to try, anyway.

Lucifer was nothing if not persistent, she had to give him that.

But not lately, she realized. He had backed off. He had listened. He was trying.

He steadied himself in her silence, and took another step closer to her. “During this case I realized something,” he began, and she had to smile at that - Lucifer always using their cases to explore his own issues, even though it was more annoying than anything else. He pressed forward once more, cradling the roses in his arm. “All this talk of forgetting someone, and I realized that I had forgotten you.”

She didn’t dare speak.

“I wanted to tell you - I need to tell you - that you make me feel,” he drew in a breath, “known. There are others who have known me longer. My family. Maze. But it’s not -” he faltered, trying to find the words. “You know me. Despite your disbelief. Or, perhaps, because of it.”

Unformed thoughts flitted by in her mind, but she let them pass without grasping, willing herself just to be here with him, to listen. 

“I’ve tried to explain,” he continued. “I tried to give you a choice. And it worked, it seems, because even though I don’t affect you, lately it appears that I really… don’t…” 

He closed his eyes for a moment, and Chloe chose to step closer, able to place her hand on his forearm. He glanced down at it, then back at her.

“What I mean to say, is. As long as I live, which will be, presumably, forever -”

She had to let out an incredulous huff at him, her lips flickering into a smile before it receded. He returned the smile before it, too, faded. 

“I won’t ever forget you,” he said, with a definitive nod. “After all this turns to ash. After this Universe crumbles to dust and we all move to the one next door, it doesn’t matter,” he assured. Her grip on his arm tightened. “Never will you be forgotten.”

What could she say to that? That he was crazy? That it didn't matter? 

She knew it mattered. 

She smiled, the movement of her cheeks causing unshed tears to fall. “I almost believe you,” she whispered.

He dropped his gaze. “Is almost enough?” 

Slowly, deliberately, she took the roses from him. She lifted them to her nose, inhaling, feeling their delicate touch on her skin. He watched her, his dark eyes trying not betray any emotion.

She lowered the roses, letting her fingertips trail through them, cognizant of thorns. “Maybe,” she said, gazing down at them. 

He cupped her jaw gently, tilting her face upward, and she expected him to lean down, to press his lips against hers. 

His thumb brushed a tear off her cheek, instead.

“Maybe,” he repeated, reverent. 

***

Later that morning, Ella answered the door to her apartment, clad in her yummy sushi pajamas and stifling a yawn.

The courier handed her a bouquet of yellow roses, which she accepted with a disbelieving smile, inhaling their scent deeply before opening the accompanying card.

The message was simple, in careful, elegant handwriting she recognized.

_My friend,_ it read. _Thank you._


End file.
